tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73036591028278238322018-11-18T05:03:30.217-05:00We Can FlyFor a very long time, no one told African American women that they could fly, so there are very few of them as commercial pilots. This website is for inspiring women to fly. Flying being defined as succeeding. Succeeding defined however you decide. We are simply here to tell you sistergirlfriend, YOU CAN FLY!dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.comBlogger2127125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-59743319892969499412018-11-16T09:32:00.000-05:002018-11-16T09:32:12.309-05:00Flying above the clouds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CRaR0PBHV4Q/W-7QoSLKBnI/AAAAAAAAE-g/qIQMk1HGMZsrmDCX-u0xavpv6VGzAjAFACLcBGAs/s1600/horizon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="155" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CRaR0PBHV4Q/W-7QoSLKBnI/AAAAAAAAE-g/qIQMk1HGMZsrmDCX-u0xavpv6VGzAjAFACLcBGAs/s320/horizon.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I like to think of myself as being very grounded. I tend to notice things from differing viewpoints and while I may not always agree with those points I do acknowledge their presence and respect them as much as I can. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This latest round of Georgia elections has me puzzled. Or maybe dismayed is the better word. I do not understand how someone thinks that an ad pointing a rifle at a teenager is acceptable regardless of the platform. It gave me pause and I am not completely against the right to bear arms. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am trying to figure out exactly when our elected officials turned from being the voice of their constituencies to being the voice for individual power. Or maybe I just had not been paying close enough attention most of my life. Perhaps when it happened does not matter. The fact that it happened is of greater concern. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If those we have elected do not speak for us who does? Or must we constantly rely on being arrested for protesting, posting outrageous incidents on social media, and writing letters to the editor to be heard? </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When will running for public office be available for those who cannot pay the high filing fees, party dues, get advertising dollars, and whatever else is necessary to simply run a campaign? I hear the argument that not everyone should run for office. Okay, that is true and it is even more true for some of those who have the means to run and do. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">I do not have the answers. All I can do is give my students the platform of a safe space to talk about our differences. To talk about those things that make us uncomfortable. To share experiences that have jaded us and those that have made us whole. The least I can do is listen and not react, not flinch, not roll my eyes, and not speak.&nbsp;This is how I learn. This is how I instill trust and respect. Only then am I able to ask the questions that often pierce the depths of ugliness and prejudice. And even that does not always work. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">Where is the table where we sit to talk about what is not working? How do we come to together to make this nation better for ALL OF US? Why is doing a good deed considered heroic? Why isn't it normal behavior? </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">I do not have the answers. I just have tons of questions. And every now and then I get the opportunity to see the world from a different vantage point like above the clouds. Above the clouds with the sun rising. From this point everything seems beautiful. </span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-51315429827266949032018-11-06T09:40:00.003-05:002018-11-06T09:40:42.863-05:00Flying with the vote<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ziDK2o331PU/W-GmeNlxu7I/AAAAAAAAE0g/wksY_Vb4-ZMNml6VfEdFY10gPRSO-ySTgCLcBGAs/s1600/EDMUND-PETTUS-BRIDGE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="160" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ziDK2o331PU/W-GmeNlxu7I/AAAAAAAAE0g/wksY_Vb4-ZMNml6VfEdFY10gPRSO-ySTgCLcBGAs/s320/EDMUND-PETTUS-BRIDGE.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today is the day to vote in the midterm elections. There has been a huge push for people to vote early and this year over 2.1 million people did which is a <a href="https://politics.myajc.com/news/state--regional-govt--politics/early-voting-turnout-reached-new-highs-for-georgia-primary-election/C0sXccV7Qi9yRaofVXMUDN/" target="_blank">state record</a>. We have held voter registration drives on our campus and I know that at least one person who registered for the first time in his 30+ years actually went out and voted. I will admit that I do not understand that how someone that old never thought about registering to vote, but that is fine. It happens and it happens more than I could ever realize for a myriad of reasons. Fortunately for me, on my 18th birthday, my dad took me to wherever one registers to vote in <a href="http://www.city-data.com/city/Wedowee-Alabama.html" target="_blank">Wedowee, Alabama</a>&nbsp;(yes, that is a real place).&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are voters in my family. We just never talked about who to vote for. I honestly do not know who my parents voted for in any election. I can surmise, but I honestly do not know. Except for the Roy Moore run-off. I told my mother that we needed to talk about that election. She looked at me and said something like she was not stupid and she knew who to vote for. She said that she did not vote for him before and would not vote for him now. So I quietly stepped back into my place of silence. And that is the only conversation I have ever had about voting in my family. I mean, I think my parents voted for President Obama. But I really do not know and I am grateful for that. I was allowed to make independent voting decisions.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will admit that I did not always take that responsibility with the full value that it deserves. There are times when I did not research the candidates and simply voted based on what I heard/saw in the media. I thought that my vote did not count, but I had to do it because <a href="https://www.history.com/topics/black-history/voting-rights-act" target="_blank">too many people died</a> so that I could vote. And now I know that <a href="https://www.npr.org/2018/11/03/663709392/why-every-vote-matters-the-elections-decided-by-a-single-vote-or-a-little-more?utm_source=facebook.com&amp;utm_medium=social&amp;utm_campaign=npr&amp;utm_term=nprnews&amp;utm_content=202905&amp;fbclid=IwAR2DSntXfnAM6qtzl-NWx70FljI7tE9qlro7-bOqbbO19LCf45hnLSDss50" target="_blank">votes do count</a>. And earlier this year I co-founded the Civil Rights Race series which organized a <a href="http://www.selmatomontgomeryrelay.com/" target="_blank">51-mile relay from Selma to Montgomery</a> in the exact footsteps of those who walked in 1965 for the right to vote for blacks. I also did a presentation at the <a href="http://www.beachinstitute.org/" target="_blank">Beach Institute</a> here in Savannah on <a href="https://prezi.com/view/TxTyJL3Q5hfWKAy7L3JO/" target="_blank">Pilgrimage to Sacred Spaces: Commemorating Selma</a>. So I have no excuse not to vote and no reason not to encourage others to vote.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And today is the day to show up and be counted, yet again. Today is the day to redefine or maybe further define our nation. (I stole that from one of my students). This isn't Selam in 1965, but it is a historical moment and we&nbsp;must rise to the occasion. In Georgia, we have the opportunity to have the first black woman governor in the freaking country with <a href="https://staceyabrams.com/meet-stacey/" target="_blank">Stacey Abrams</a>. It is difficult to believe&nbsp;(okay, maybe not really) that there has not been one yet. Not only is she a woman of color, but&nbsp;she also has an actual&nbsp;platform. (I never advocate for voting for someone based on skin color or gender since stupidity, greed, and a list of other negative attributes come in all shapes, sizes, and colors).&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, make today a great day. Get out and vote.&nbsp;</span><br /><br />dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-42869027417252196252018-10-30T05:00:00.000-04:002018-10-30T05:00:10.170-04:00Flying with Jessamyn Stanley<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9PY0qisIVN0/W9cBmTBvI6I/AAAAAAAAEzM/c6Fdp_6UJgUy1xFj94D6erHzgI3TcyJawCLcBGAs/s1600/Her.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9PY0qisIVN0/W9cBmTBvI6I/AAAAAAAAEzM/c6Fdp_6UJgUy1xFj94D6erHzgI3TcyJawCLcBGAs/s320/Her.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I met <a href="http://jessamynstanley.com/" target="_blank">Jessamyn Stanley</a>&nbsp;Not only did I meet her I was able to breathe the same air as her. I was in her space. I was all up in her stuff. Not really, but I stared at her a lot. I do not think she noticed or maybe she was just to polite to say anything. She was wonderful.<br /><br />For whatever reason, I felt free in her class. Not that I felt overly constricted in other classes. Or maybe I just did not know what feeling free actually felt like. But I know it now. And it was wonderful. I did poses that I would never dare try before and did others much deeper than ever before.<br /><br />I am not sure why that is. I do not think I knowingly not do poses. I mean there are certain instructors that I vibe with more than others. There are only a couple that I trust enough to close my eyes in savasana. I think that is a holdover from my military days. I just do not feel safe in many environments and rarely close my eyes when the instructor tells me to. When I teach I generally say "Close your eyes if you feel comfortable. Know that I will keep mine open. You are safe." And that resonates with people.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-doY3LBooOQY/W9cBehJ81uI/AAAAAAAAEzE/rsOl9AWaeQ8QvbvYe4PrXCh5uHVHh23nQCLcBGAs/s1600/us%2Bstanding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-doY3LBooOQY/W9cBehJ81uI/AAAAAAAAEzE/rsOl9AWaeQ8QvbvYe4PrXCh5uHVHh23nQCLcBGAs/s320/us%2Bstanding.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tammy, Jessamy, and me</td></tr></tbody></table>I will admit that there was something about Jessamyn being front and center that gave me permission to just be. It did not matter that my skin was darker than many in that class. It did not matter that I am not a skinny stick figure and that I did not have on Lululemon&nbsp;apparel. It did not matter that I am not the <i>bendiest</i> (I am surprised that spellcheck accepted that word) person. She reminded us that yoga is not a performance. It is a sense of being. We should only do yoga for ourselves. No judgments from <i>ourselves</i>. Peace comes from within. The poses are just a small part of yoga. What you do on your&nbsp;mat is what you do even if she does not direct me that way.<br /><br />Those words somehow lifted my soul. I need to do me. My mat is my own. I knew that. I had heard it before and yet being told that again in that space with her&nbsp;<i>made all of the difference. She </i>made the difference.<br /><br />There is something to be said about seeing someone who looks more like me than my other instructors. It is not just about outward appearance. It is that silent acknowledgment of understanding the journey. It's like knowing where we have been even if we were there at different times and perhaps in different places and spaces. It was about the collective unity of our souls. I thought I understood it. I even wrote my research paper for yoga teacher training on "Why is yoga so white?" Logically I got it. And yet that day I <i>really</i> got it. It was like I was given permission <i>to get it</i>. And none should have been required. Do I need permission to just be? I thought I was living my truth out loud. And yet I felt so completely unencumbered during the three hours that she guided me through pose after pose after pose.<br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jRjuO-mzGmo/W9cBihk4FaI/AAAAAAAAEzI/koz3Rdq2i5MOUawJLTappSPbN9jR1uZnwCLcBGAs/s1600/jessamyn%2Band%2Bus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jRjuO-mzGmo/W9cBihk4FaI/AAAAAAAAEzI/koz3Rdq2i5MOUawJLTappSPbN9jR1uZnwCLcBGAs/s320/jessamyn%2Band%2Bus.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We could not stop laughing and hugging</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I did not know how much I needed Jessamyn. I did not know how much I needed to witness this beautiful woman of color move in perfect harmony with her own spirit. Unapologetically moving. Not asking permission, but granting it to herself.&nbsp; I am not sure I do that. Okay, I am sure that I do not do that. I have created a perception of what/how I should move and it is blocking my own natural beautiful movements. I am blocking my own harmonious breath spirit soul connection. I am also not allowing others to see it and be set free by it as Jessamyn did for me. Isn't that why I took yoga teacher training? I have the ability to do more than I am. I guess it is time to start.<br /><br />Thank you, Jessamyn, for simply being the best you and allowing me to feel the love that you have for yourself unequivocally. Some lessons are best learned by example and you have set a great one.<br /><br /><br /><br />dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-55938530565663213042018-10-23T05:00:00.000-04:002018-10-23T05:00:04.579-04:00Flying in Mobile at the FOCUS conference<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sLz-f9k35eI/W8zjlGB8rFI/AAAAAAAAExc/un6ben_2rtQcfmD_loCGSqEJDGO4ka0fQCLcBGAs/s1600/name%2Btag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="778" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sLz-f9k35eI/W8zjlGB8rFI/AAAAAAAAExc/un6ben_2rtQcfmD_loCGSqEJDGO4ka0fQCLcBGAs/s320/name%2Btag.jpg" width="155" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Friday I was honored to be among many phenomenal women to speak at the <a href="https://www.focuswomensconference.com/" target="_blank">FOCUS conference.&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;The sessions were very powerful and intriguing. It was hard to pick just one to attend during the time slots. Fortunately,&nbsp;a few were held more than one. That led to my concern that very few people would attend mine since it was not a hard-hitting&nbsp;professional topic and I am not a familiar name in Mobile.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could not have been more surprised when the women started arriving&nbsp;and they did not stop. It was standing room only. We ran out of chairs. We were all crammed into that tiny room. It was magical. Being so close we could not help but rub elbows with those around us. We took an oath in the beginning not to repeat the stories of the those who were brave enough and dare I say comfortable enough to share their job stealers. We turned the cameras off. I had no idea what would happen within that room, but it was awe inspiring. The women bonded. The women shared. We laughed. We held our breaths in certain moments. We talked. We listened. We hugged.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And we smashed the hell out of the pinata that was filled with 150 pieces of Dove chocolate because we were grown ass women and we want the good stuff. I could not figure out how to hand the pinata and Kendra forgot the bat so I laid it on the floor in the middle of the circle and we all went at it. Why? Because "<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; letter-spacing: -0.4px;">Life would be a million times better if there were pinatas strategically placed throughout the day". It was just that simple.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><div class="_h _z6 _4q _l" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; display: inline-block; letter-spacing: -0.4px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="_w6 _0 _1 _2 _w9 _wo _wi _wc _3c _3 _d _b _6" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: -0.4px; line-height: 1.2; overflow-wrap: break-word;"></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was wonderful to see women come out of their shells to bash the pinata. This was so not the traditional workshop. These women dug deep. Some sought validation for their feelings. Others just needed to say their issues out loud just be heard. We accommodated them all. It was fun. It was exhausting. It was real. It was truly a workshop because we all worked. I probably needed the workshop more than any of them. I gave the kind of workshop that I needed. That in itself was powerful. And the fact that my friend Kendra introduced me and was my room captain was the icing on the cake.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I would love to be invited back, but if not that is okay. I gave myself what I needed and a few other women benefitted as well. That was the goal and I&nbsp;achieved it.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-82859488362665585772018-10-16T10:11:00.003-04:002018-10-16T10:11:22.226-04:00Flying on task<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gKe0A0dnQoM/W8XxTntKs2I/AAAAAAAAEww/lt8cRps9Ez4nUobE8yHOaOfN914PyrqbQCLcBGAs/s1600/black%2Bshoe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="378" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gKe0A0dnQoM/W8XxTntKs2I/AAAAAAAAEww/lt8cRps9Ez4nUobE8yHOaOfN914PyrqbQCLcBGAs/s320/black%2Bshoe.jpg" width="305" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There have been many changes at work. The massive layoff created a lot of stress and anxiety. Those of us left are torn. We are happy that we still have a job for the moment yet devastated by that loss for our colleagues. Survivors' guilt. It is difficult to rationalize and we probably should not even try. There is a plan and just because we are not privy&nbsp;to it does not make it less of a plan. We can argue the best practices of organizational management, but there&nbsp;would be no point. So like good soldiers we march on.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was in the midst of this turmoil of emotions when I was asked to conduct a workshop at a <a href="https://www.focuswomensconference.com/" target="_blank">women's business conference </a>in Mobile, AL. I had applied to be the keynote, but I will gladly admit that even I would have chosen the woman they chose instead of me! So now I had the task of developing a workshop that was drastically different from the topic and outline I proposed for the keynote. I asked for suggestions and the answer surprised me. They wanted me to do a workshop on joy.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is completely out of my comfort zone. I am used to doing workshops on empowerment, handling criticism with dignity and grace, networking, tooting your own horn, job searching, and many other work-related skills. Joy was not one of them. But maybe it should be since right now in my life joy was missing or at best overshadowed by 'stuff'.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So while on my cruise I asked people what brought them joy and the entire workshop (at least a rough outline) came together. I am now excited to present this workshop and I will on Friday, October 19th. I am not using any visual aids. This will all be me conducting a full-on workshop where the participants will get their hands dirty while digging deep to figure out their individual joy mantras. This will be a no holds barred journey, unlike anything I have ever taken before. And it came just when I needed it.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I am trying to figure out what to wear. I have decided to shop in my own closet even though I bought a pair of black patent leather peep-toe pumps from Ross for $10.99. Hey,&nbsp; there was no line and there is always a line at Ross. And who does not need a pair of black patent leather peep-toe pumps? Joy is wherever we find it. Right?</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-56356806493290254382018-10-04T11:43:00.001-04:002018-10-04T11:43:32.527-04:00Flying after Alaska<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fkzwMhsJ1w0/W7Y1EhmXmJI/AAAAAAAAEuQ/xfmVFWK7UvstzDSYD3AO8MC9DMRQOG3tQCLcBGAs/s1600/glacier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fkzwMhsJ1w0/W7Y1EhmXmJI/AAAAAAAAEuQ/xfmVFWK7UvstzDSYD3AO8MC9DMRQOG3tQCLcBGAs/s320/glacier.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few days ago I went to Alaska. I am trying to finish my journey of visiting all 50 states. I now have 8 left. Yippee for me. Anyway, I went to Alaska. I had seen pictures of Alaska. But what I saw in person was better than anything I saw or could ever imagine. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I did something that I do not remember ever doing. I disconnected. I completely disconnected. My phone was only used to take pictures. I was unaware of anything happening outside of my immediate focus. I was completely obvious to the fact that one of my friends thought someone had stolen my car when she drove by what she thought was my house which was in fact someone else's house. Seeing that in a text message when I returned from Alaska gave me a quick heart attack, but by then the issue was resolved. I am blessed to have people who love me that much. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back to Alaska. I needed the disengagement from my daily life. I needed to be away from my friends who lost their jobs, the unknown of my upcoming class schedule, unpacking the boxes in my now much smaller and smellier office, and many other things that had been percolating below the surface. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I craved the crisp fresh air. It had been a very long&nbsp;time since I lived in Washington and yet the memories came flooding back to the point where I questioned living in the south. And I love the hot weather. Maybe it is time for me to do something different, to be somewhere different, to meet someone different, to just be somewhere different. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Truthfully, I am not sure I could live in Alaska. It gets very cold there. But the beauty that surrounded me day in and day out was cause for pause. (Hey, the rhymed). I wish I had spent quality time learning about the First Nation people. I wanted to bring home a piece of native art or jewelry or the memory of a chat, but that did not happen. Perhaps next time. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;</span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-42905450627100381482018-09-17T12:20:00.004-04:002018-09-17T12:20:43.542-04:00Flying feeling 'less-than-my-usual-greatness"<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uP-hxutiDtc/W5_UMk89gqI/AAAAAAAAEbA/5qVxklzdE7A1txpO3A_u9Pyu-7Lhk2MMwCLcBGAs/s1600/christian-fregnan-648412-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1047" data-original-width="1600" height="209" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uP-hxutiDtc/W5_UMk89gqI/AAAAAAAAEbA/5qVxklzdE7A1txpO3A_u9Pyu-7Lhk2MMwCLcBGAs/s320/christian-fregnan-648412-unsplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Christian Fregnan</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I cannot believe I have actually been away so long. In some ways it feels like it and in others it does not. So much has transpired. I was invited to be a panelist on the Black Women's Equality Day event. I presented my journey from a beneficiary of Civil Rights to a grass roots activist in a presentation called Pilgrimage to a sacred space: Commemorating Selma. And I am on tap to deliver a workshop on joy next month. And, I am going to Alaska this weekend! Then I will only have 9 states left to visit. Yes, I have been to 40 states including Hawaii. I have started back running. I am averaging 20 miles a week. My pace is slow, but I am covering the mileage. I plan to run another marathon, maybe next year. All that above was part of my best. And even I will admit that it is/was pretty awesome.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">And then...change. I understand the need for change in business or in everyday life. I understand the bottom line. I understand tightening the purse strings. I understand streamlining. I get it. I have been part of it. I have been laid off.&nbsp; I have contributed to a plan to lay people off. It is not easy or fun. Many of my colleagues were laid off a couple weeks ago. We were not told the rationale. And we cannot figure it out.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Things are different. Even before the layoffs the vibe changed. And I caught up in it. I did my best, but my best just did not feel like my best. I felt like I failed my students. I do not feel like I am on top of my game.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Here's the thing: the game changes. Best is relative. It is different from day to day. Sometimes hour by hour. Dare I say minute by minute? The truth is that I was doing my best. It just wasn't the same best as last month or last year. And that is allowed. I am allowed to not be as great as I was. I am allowed as long as I do not intend to stay in that state of 'less-than-my-usual-greatness'.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I do not plan to stay here. There are lessons to be learned here. I am doing my best to pay attention.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br />dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-49120064385764124562018-08-07T08:44:00.002-04:002018-08-07T08:44:45.896-04:00Flying with the birds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KJsn7QRSdFg/W2mSLRiIXyI/AAAAAAAADzc/q8JjMfGxZDwibI16Qnh7CDwz2RWBwlGSwCLcBGAs/s1600/birds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KJsn7QRSdFg/W2mSLRiIXyI/AAAAAAAADzc/q8JjMfGxZDwibI16Qnh7CDwz2RWBwlGSwCLcBGAs/s320/birds.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I get older I realize that I must be very discriminate in the people I allow to share my breath. Not everyone has my best interest at heart. Not everyone wants me to succeed. And certainly not everyone should be passengers on my journey. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I learned some hard lessons. I had to politely remove myself from the orbit of some people. It was hard, but not as difficult as I thought it would be. don't get me wrong, I am the best cheerleader you could ever have. However, when I need the cheering and the same people were not there after I was just in their corner I began&nbsp;to pay attention. I do not mean tit for tat. I mean showing up and being present when showing up and being present is required. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then I noticed that there were those who showed up and were present without the prodding. They were there because they were interested in being on my team and having me be a part of theirs. And honestly, those are the only people&nbsp;who I will go out of my way to make time for. Those people who show up. And that makes me show up and stand up a bit taller than usual. Just by being in the room their energies create an atmosphere of greatness. And who does not want to be surrounded by greatness? Who does not want to be part of greatness? </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-13248994722898303762018-07-24T10:11:00.002-04:002018-07-24T10:11:46.799-04:00Flying with Crumpled DorethaI had not realized that it has been over a month since my last post. I will try to do much better going forward. <br /><br />I have started back to running. Okay, maybe that is not a correct statement. Let me try this again, I have started back to running MORE. Yeah, that is it. That is much more truthful. I bought a Planet Fitness membership, the $10 one so that I could run on a treadmill. I gave my treadmill away because it would not fit in my house unless I put it in the kitchen. And that just seemed, well uncouth. Anyway, I would routinely jump on the treadmill and run three miles. I even went after teaching class at 9:30pm. I could go at 5am when I did not feel safe running alone outside. <br /><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QN8e7daLdXA/W1cyttVYArI/AAAAAAAADyc/rgXMNll4li8w1Ff_nJPK3k0fKtT_icWvgCEwYBhgL/s1600/crumpled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QN8e7daLdXA/W1cyttVYArI/AAAAAAAADyc/rgXMNll4li8w1Ff_nJPK3k0fKtT_icWvgCEwYBhgL/s320/crumpled.jpg" width="240" /></a>Well, that abruptly came to a halt and I started running again outside. I'd rather run a slower three miles on the pavement than on a treadmill. Then I started running farther. On my birthday I ran six miles. I was supposed to run 5.7, but I hate raggedy miles so it became six. Then I increased to 8. yes, I can now run 8 miles. I am sure they are not pretty, but they are beautiful to me. I want to get back to running a 10 miler every week. And yes, I am missing my running crew in Charleston. <br /><br />So, I am back. My knee is okay. I have greater mobility and can almost straighten it all the way out. It does not hurt so much except when I do not take rest days. On the days that I do not run I am still doing something like yoga, swimming, or walking. I need to rest. I feel guilty when I rest. And I know that rest is when the body rejuvenates. It is still difficult to do. <br /><br />I now take pictures of my crumpled clothes after a run. Not after EVERY run because sometimes I run out of time or my clothes are sweat soaked to my body that taking a picture just cannot happen in a timely manner. But I do my best. <br /><br />And it feels great to be able to leave my stuff on the pavement. To just flat out eat miles again. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-26953324041389767142018-06-20T15:26:00.000-04:002018-06-20T15:26:55.185-04:00Flying with Hamilton<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gp8977vr6Ps/WyqqAwtlC9I/AAAAAAAADwA/QEp3tROgAVYe22xjdfNqKEhX8hFZJKUIACLcBGAs/s1600/Hamilton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gp8977vr6Ps/WyqqAwtlC9I/AAAAAAAADwA/QEp3tROgAVYe22xjdfNqKEhX8hFZJKUIACLcBGAs/s320/Hamilton.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I managed to get decent tickets at a decent price for Hamilton. No, not Anthony Hamilton. I am sure getting tickets to see him would be great, but I am not a huge fan. Okay, I rarely listen to his music. I heard he was amazing, though. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway thanks to a few random acts, I saw Hamilton. I took my accomplice (every person needs an accomplice in life) and off we went to Atlanta. It was our first road trip together and it went well except that I would not stop for her to grab coffee. It was a road trip, I do not drink coffee, she was late, and she should&nbsp; have brought a thermos with her. Fortunately my lovely aunt made her some coffee along with a great breakfast. At that point I think all was forgiven. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hamilton was worth all of the hype. I will admit that I had to Google the play so that I would have some idea of what I was going to see. Yes, I am sure we covered Hamilton in elementary school and maybe high school, but apparently I slept through those classes because I remembered absolutely positively nothing. Sad to say that I thought he was on the $20 bill. Yes, now I know that is Andrew Jackson. I should have known that from all the chatter around replacing him with Harriet Tubman. I did not know that he wrote part of the Federalist Papers because I read them while working on my PhD. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The play captured my attention and now I know much more about American history than I ever did. I am now going to go back and read up on other founding members. I know I should know my American history especially since my degrees are in public policy and administration. Not sure how I missed most of it. Perhaps if there were more plays like this I would have been inspired to do more research on history. But then again, maybe not. At least now I will and I hope that many others will as well. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-66095644982271071782018-06-06T09:32:00.002-04:002018-06-06T09:32:57.567-04:00Flying with a gift<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ym9qEYONneQ/WxfiUOzDBQI/AAAAAAAADuc/uE40eYz2AxwMBu9Le6Sbk4-hWFSlv2oAgCLcBGAs/s1600/Haven%2Byoga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ym9qEYONneQ/WxfiUOzDBQI/AAAAAAAADuc/uE40eYz2AxwMBu9Le6Sbk4-hWFSlv2oAgCLcBGAs/s320/Haven%2Byoga.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Yesterday I was given a wonderful gift. I was&nbsp;asked to teach yoga to students in a summer program. These students were from Haven and Hodge elementary schools. They were all students of color. I recently wrote a research paper on the whiteness of yoga. So this opportunity was exactly what I needed in an effort to normalize yoga for people of color-if that is even possible. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Anyway, there were just over 40 kids on purple mats moving to the whale sounds (the theme was about whales and Spotify has this playlist...). Yeah, I guess you had to be there. There was a lot of laughter and even more mindfulness. We focused on our breaths. We allowed our bodies to take the shapes exactly the way they were supposed to all very different from one another. It was magical. Everyone participated. One second grader brought his mat upfront and helped lead the class. why? Because he had done yoga before and he wanted to be up front. It was really just that simple. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot;;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot;;">Of course there were the usual kiddie chatter and giggles during class, but it was all good. It was more than good. It was a perfectly imperfect practice just as all practices should be. It was the start of a movement. It was activism in a quiet gentle form. These children were doing something that many adults don't do. Something that many adults don't do because they are afraid. Something that many people of color do not do because of the stares they get being the only 'one'. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot;;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot;;">My hope is that yesterday I empowered over 40 children to step on their mats not just now, but later on in life without fear of anything. Without thinking about their skin color, their body type, or not understanding the poses. I also want them to take this power with them off of the mat. I want them to feel their power in school, on the bus, on the street, and especially in their minds. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot;;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot;;">Yesterday I was given a wonderful gift and for that I am eternally grateful. </span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-54439281038938211082018-05-24T13:20:00.001-04:002018-05-24T13:20:19.515-04:00Flying with the vote<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U4BOyTTDuPc/Wwbxwd016OI/AAAAAAAADts/h8YmZVFFW1kHg-j5Ke9rypXhNSx4zNntwCLcBGAs/s1600/voted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U4BOyTTDuPc/Wwbxwd016OI/AAAAAAAADts/h8YmZVFFW1kHg-j5Ke9rypXhNSx4zNntwCLcBGAs/s320/voted.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I voted for the first time as a Georgia resident. Before voting I had a lot of research to do. I had no idea 'who my people were'. I did not want to go into the poll without knowing anything. Plus, I am always telling people to be informed voters and I use the hashtag #foryourfile so that I can catalog the issues and responses that I would not remember. I even attended a political luncheon in an attempt to hear from the candidates themselves. I did not learn much. Partly because not much was said and partly because it started an hour late and well, I had other things to do. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">So I paid attention to the televised debates. I read&nbsp;everything I could get my hands on. I particularly had to read, read, and re-read articles from various sources on Stacey Evans and Stacey Evans. I was not sure which one best represented me and the television commercials were a bit misleading. I had conversations (not as many as I wanted and I think my friends and coworkers were getting weary of my questions) with people in an attempt to decipher what was needed and who could best deliver that. Again, it was the primary. The winner would go up against the Republican primary winner. There will be a runoff to determine that. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">It was different voting in Chatham county. Much of it was manual input. It took a lot longer than I am used to. There were no ballots posted. There was no explanation of the referendums or whatever those&nbsp;questions were on the ballot. I was unprepared&nbsp;for them and I thought I had downloaded the most recent ballot. I got frustrated because I did not understand the manual stuff. I got a voter registration card so why was I manually put into the system? I did not ask because&nbsp;my&nbsp;words may have come out harsh and I may have been escorted out. So I stood there waiting glaring at the woman who I am sure was doing the best she could to put my information into the system. I managed to vote and next time I try the early voting. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><br />dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-80151231869157879552018-05-09T17:06:00.001-04:002018-05-09T17:06:16.837-04:00Flying with Thursday's Word<div><span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PqEbdREbATo/WvNijm_020I/AAAAAAAADsc/VQnk9Bzp9P85KE5vp58FkpkzaxXBix_MACLcBGAs/s1600/saffu-201120-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PqEbdREbATo/WvNijm_020I/AAAAAAAADsc/VQnk9Bzp9P85KE5vp58FkpkzaxXBix_MACLcBGAs/s320/saffu-201120-unsplash.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, &quot;San Francisco&quot;, &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, &quot;Segoe UI&quot;, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: nowrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Photo by<span>&nbsp;</span></span><a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/b-9PBmDGOHc?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, &quot;San Francisco&quot;, &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, &quot;Segoe UI&quot;, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Saffu</a><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, &quot;San Francisco&quot;, &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, &quot;Segoe UI&quot;, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: nowrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span>&nbsp;</span>on<span>&nbsp;</span></span><a href="https://unsplash.com/search/photos/magnifying-glass?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, &quot;San Francisco&quot;, &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, &quot;Segoe UI&quot;, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Unsplash</a></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thursday's Word is back!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">THE <span class="il">WORD</span> MAGNIFY TALKS OF NAME AND REPUTATION, IT IS OUR JOB, OUR JOY, TO LET OTHERS KNOW OF HIS GREATNESS IN OUR LIVES…THAT’S HOW WE MAGNIFY HIM</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> GOD IS LOOKING FOR REAL WORSHIPPERS!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span>&nbsp;</span></div><span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span>John 4:2</span>4 You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews. Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">”<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">WHAT JESUS WAS TELLING THE WOMAN WAS “YOU KNOW WHO TO WORSHIP, BUT YOU DON’T KNOW HIM!”</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span>&nbsp;</span><div><span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Think about your greatest hero (someone you don’t personally know) you can know all about them, without knowing them. Pick a superhero and detail all the things they do.&nbsp; What have any of them done for you?&nbsp; </span></span><div><span><span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The same thing happens with God, we can know all about Him without having a relationship. Now think of God. Now...you testify to what He has done for you?&nbsp; Not a superhero but a Supernatural God who is alive and well in this world today. He is holding you up right now and giving you life.</span></span></span></div><div><br /><div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jesus Christ is the one we all need a relationship with in order to live a good life down here. Get to know Him today.</span><div><br /><div><div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">May God continue to bless you, is my prayer.<br /></span></div><div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brenda Smith</span></div></div></div></div></div></div><img height="96" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PqEbdREbATo/WvNijm_020I/AAAAAAAADsc/VQnk9Bzp9P85KE5vp58FkpkzaxXBix_MACLcBGAs/s320/saffu-201120-unsplash.jpg" style="left: 530px; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 40px;" width="64" />dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-39958084945372490802018-04-25T12:56:00.002-04:002018-04-25T12:56:53.839-04:00Flying with the same number<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IC_zk8fP8Gc/WuCzKCkv8hI/AAAAAAAADrk/OFfAJDFKO5cPd5bPmbRY_nLE8Fob3HylgCLcBGAs/s1600/scales%2Bimmo-wegmann-544207-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1060" data-original-width="1600" height="211" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IC_zk8fP8Gc/WuCzKCkv8hI/AAAAAAAADrk/OFfAJDFKO5cPd5bPmbRY_nLE8Fob3HylgCLcBGAs/s320/scales%2Bimmo-wegmann-544207-unsplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, &quot;San Francisco&quot;, &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, &quot;Segoe UI&quot;, Arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: nowrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo by<span>&nbsp;</span></span></span></span><a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/tQ80snPrBJk?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, &quot;San Francisco&quot;, &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, &quot;Segoe UI&quot;, Arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Immo Wegmann</span></a><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, &quot;San Francisco&quot;, &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, &quot;Segoe UI&quot;, Arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: nowrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span>&nbsp;</span>on<span>&nbsp;</span></span></span></span><a href="https://unsplash.com/search/photos/measuring-scales?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, &quot;San Francisco&quot;, &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, &quot;Segoe UI&quot;, Arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Unsplash</span></a></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am in a 6 week challenge. The goal is to get back to eating healthy and get my body ready to start running again. That means strengthening my leg muscles especially the ones around my arthritic knee and possibly dropping a few pounds. Dropping the weight will make things easier on my knee. I am talking about 5-10 pounds. I just want to feel better in my clothes. Some things are a bit tighter than they should be and I do not have money to buy a whole new wardrobe. Nor do I want to. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first week I lost 4 pounds. I did not see it go, notice it gone, or anything. But I was still happy. In my Weight Watcher days I never lost that much weight except that one time when I was sick. So that doesn't count. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The second week I felt the missing weight. My clothes fit better. I was making better food choices. I was estimating how much weight I thought I had lost. I was guessing about 2 pounds. And when I got on the scale, I lost NOTHING! Not a thing. Not a decimal point. Not an ounce. Absolutely positively nothing. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will admit that I was disappointed. I had to research why I did not lose weight and discovered that what happened to me is pretty common. In fact in the beginning stages of change it is also common to gain a pound or two. That made me feel a bit better. More importantly I can see the results of the workouts and the food choices. What I am doing is sustainable long term. I am not starving myself. I am not drinking two shakes and a sensible meal. I am not depriving myself of the foods I love. I am just eating them in moderation. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am on my way to a healthier me. The number on the scale is not important. What is important is that I feel so much better and my clothes fit the way they are supposed to. I just hope I can remember all of this when I step on the scale Monday. </span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-57651851012099261562018-04-17T15:43:00.000-04:002018-04-17T15:43:42.339-04:00Flying while rambling<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Classes started last week and I just did not feel as prepared as I usually am. So in this second week I am already playing catch up. I feel like I am going full speed ahead and yet I see very little evidence of my work. I think it is because I am looking at what I have left to do. I have a lot left to do. And of course nothing is going as planned. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dIkIxh0sNPU/WtZN3RHGLpI/AAAAAAAADqg/vnlPYuChC7M_1I5V5_zBcWZN9auCxlxCACLcBGAs/s1600/jonathan-brinkhorst-398449-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1106" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dIkIxh0sNPU/WtZN3RHGLpI/AAAAAAAADqg/vnlPYuChC7M_1I5V5_zBcWZN9auCxlxCACLcBGAs/s320/jonathan-brinkhorst-398449-unsplash.jpg" width="221" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jonathan Brinkhorst</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I started a 6 week challenge. Thinking about it I am not sure what the challenge is exactly. I know that I meet with a personal trainer three times a week and for 30 minutes I sweat more than my body weight. And once a month I get weighed. And there is a meal plan. So it is almost like Weight Watchers, but with a lot of food restrictions and a fitness dude. There are push-ups involved. Lots of push-ups, squats, and holding planks for FOREVER. And there are cute little kettlebells that are evil. Pure evil. But they are helping me get the work done. this is week number two. I even discovered that I like lentils. My goal is to drop some weight to take pressure off of my knees. Then I plan to ramp up my running. I haven't eaten a chunk of miles in a very long time. I miss them. I miss how my body felt after 10 miles. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been teaching yoga to elementary school kids. So much fun. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">I am trying not to get overwhelmed and I am failing miserably. But I am doing the best I can. most days anyway. Some days not so much. I am trying to make myself believe that everyone else is crazy and that I am the only sane one. Most days it seems that way, at least to me. At least today, but I have not had any sugar in a few days so my worldview is slightly skewed. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-54971074698486537202018-03-28T09:51:00.001-04:002018-03-28T09:51:12.313-04:00Flying after the bridge<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K8WN59xtfAY/Wruc1KYa-II/AAAAAAAADoc/QKyFEmPCN3ckkXLLlSdQnEJPT0ta8NmYwCLcBGAs/s1600/steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K8WN59xtfAY/Wruc1KYa-II/AAAAAAAADoc/QKyFEmPCN3ckkXLLlSdQnEJPT0ta8NmYwCLcBGAs/s200/steps.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">It really happened. The race that I had envisioned for over three years happened. And it happened in a HUGE way. People from all over the country came to Selma to run the 51 mile relay. One guy even ran the entire race alone. Triple ^5 to him! Okay maybe more than triple. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Let me tell you, it felt great to have the race of my dreams come to fruition. Now I can add visionary to my list of adjectives. It was an amazing day. There were a few bumps along the way and definitely things to improve upon, but the majority of the feedback was positive. This was a first. This was the inaugural race. And the date is already set for next year. I am a legend! (Ha, if only in my own mind)!</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tMuQ6Lmk6M8/Wruc4JFZbJI/AAAAAAAADog/1rUV2hcelxgpNB_keYcREGG0QGK3BM--QCLcBGAs/s1600/Pettus%2Bbridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tMuQ6Lmk6M8/Wruc4JFZbJI/AAAAAAAADog/1rUV2hcelxgpNB_keYcREGG0QGK3BM--QCLcBGAs/s320/Pettus%2Bbridge.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot;;"></span><br /><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-68jQcWibJ4Q/WrucyaOepCI/AAAAAAAADoY/a1ffBE2OypcsZSCOeWTaIBZWkpipOM_7wCLcBGAs/s1600/new%2Bmedal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-68jQcWibJ4Q/WrucyaOepCI/AAAAAAAADoY/a1ffBE2OypcsZSCOeWTaIBZWkpipOM_7wCLcBGAs/s200/new%2Bmedal.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot;;">Running over the infamous Pettus bridge was just as emotional as it was the first time I did it. This time I had the added thoughts of running along the same road that the marchers did in 1965. The camps where they spent the night are clearly marked. I think we all said prayers of gratitude as we ran by. Sharing this experience with my dad (our van driver) and my Charleston running crew was awesome. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I did not do this feat solo. There were many people who worked tirelessly to make this race a success. The are the members of the Walk Jog Run club. They were on the ground making things happen. But this was my dream. I will take sole responsibility for that. And yes, I know and appreciate that dreams do not become reality without hard work. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I have no idea how many people participated. But it was many. It was a diverse crowd. It was diverse, because civil rights benefit everyone. I cannot tell you how many times I had to school people on the Civil Rights Act and its various titles. Or how many times I had to say that civil rights is not just a 'black thing'. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Anyway, the race was a success. It was beautiful. It was a dream come true. The only thing that would have made it better would have been having Representative John Lewis there. Maybe he will be there next year. I need to start working on that right now. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"></span><br />dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-82829115616485434152018-03-22T09:53:00.003-04:002018-03-22T09:53:30.850-04:00Flying to Montgomery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A-t3PheLLus/WrOyfEpR6QI/AAAAAAAADn8/ZCZ23wrbtncKlgbQQt_9kr1f9ykPu9zGQCLcBGAs/s1600/selma%2Brelay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A-t3PheLLus/WrOyfEpR6QI/AAAAAAAADn8/ZCZ23wrbtncKlgbQQt_9kr1f9ykPu9zGQCLcBGAs/s320/selma%2Brelay.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am flying to Montgomery, AL tomorrow. I am a bit frazzled because I am not the world's greatest packer. I am not even in the top 2 billion. I keep throwing things in my bag. Since I am flying that needs to stop because I am not checking a bag. I am taking one carryon. So I need to pack smart which is not something I do well. And my mom is not here to help me. And yes, I was in the Army and no, I did not learn how to pack then either. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Aside from my packing woes, I am getting excited. I am going to run from Selma to Montgomery with my Charleston crew. The ladies I ran at 4am with. And truth be told, I really miss those days and those runs. I struggle now getting up to be at the pool or the gym at 6am. Times have changed along with my location. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This relay is important because it was my dream to do this. It is important because we must remember that those before us paved the way for us. We do not have to run this relay in the footsteps of those who marched the 54 mile trek. We choose to because we honor them and we honor our right to vote without poll taxes, being beaten, or any obstacles in our path. (Yes, there are new obstacles such as voter ID and reduced early voting, but we will tackle those another time.) This race is in commemoration, celebration, and honor. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am running the first leg which goes across the infamous Edmund Pettus Bridge. It was here that voting rights marchers were violently confronted by law enforcement personnel on <span style="font-family: verdana,sans-serif;">March 7, 1965</span><span style="font-family: verdana,sans-serif;">. The day became known as Bloody Sunday. This weekend the law enforcement will be on our side protecting us from traffic. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: verdana,sans-serif;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: verdana,sans-serif;">I will not pretend that this relay will accomplish or achieve the same impact of the march in 1965. I only hope that it gently mimics the&nbsp;road paved&nbsp;for us and gently reminds us that there is still many more miles to cover-literally and figuratively. </span></span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-71952319709434779542018-03-13T12:32:00.001-04:002018-03-13T12:32:22.795-04:00Flying called something else<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LeQfXszfVpo/Wqf84dpwjrI/AAAAAAAADmg/iVQLMdXWCwoSRQoTsLq5qfQ06XS7tCBkwCLcBGAs/s1600/samantha-sophia-34200-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LeQfXszfVpo/Wqf84dpwjrI/AAAAAAAADmg/iVQLMdXWCwoSRQoTsLq5qfQ06XS7tCBkwCLcBGAs/s320/samantha-sophia-34200-unsplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Samantha Sophia</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other day someone said to me (via Facebook) that she apologized for sending me a long email to send to all my friends. I asked to stop sending her rantings. She apologized because she thought I was a Christian. So she did not apologize the convoluted message. She did not apologize for sending me a chain message. She apologized because she thought I was a Christian. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That stopped me cold. My faith has never been questioned. And it should not have been questioned by someone who does not know me. But that is what happens. People we do not know see/hear something and immediately they launch into all sorts of judgments. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This woman jumped to her incorrect conclusion because I refused to forward her email asking for prayer because (I am paraphrasing here) same sex marriages, abortions, and a host of other things are the cause for our decaying society. I refused to forward it and told her to stop sending me private messages like that. So that is what makes me (in her eyes) not a Christian. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">Of course I do not care what she thinks of me. She is not someone in my real life. But the lesson I learned is that I also need to be cognizant of the judgments I am making about people I do not even know based on one something that I saw/heard. Not that I am equating my refusal to perpetuate her venom a reason to believe that I am not a Christian. I just need to be careful. I need to attempt to get the full picture of a person before I decide anything about that person. It's only fair. I also need to watch the flinging of labels&nbsp; because people have been called many things and some of them dangerously wrong. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">I guess Christianity has many flavors. I guess mine just did not gibe with hers. I have not looked, but I doubt I will find anywhere in the Bible where it says that we should judge a group of people because their beliefs are different than ours. No where does it say (I am just guessing) that it is our duty to perpetuate lies and hatefulness about others. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">I am quite sure about that, but I will dust my Bible off and read it just to make sure. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-56617965944233735102018-03-07T10:25:00.002-05:002018-03-07T10:25:43.457-05:00Flying back to the origin-thanks Cookie<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4FQjLIJQer0/WqAD54bPF8I/AAAAAAAADlQ/Bm2HbcAinBgj-64dMH2bW5NMX_h41cQXACLcBGAs/s1600/cookie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="311" data-original-width="360" height="276" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4FQjLIJQer0/WqAD54bPF8I/AAAAAAAADlQ/Bm2HbcAinBgj-64dMH2bW5NMX_h41cQXACLcBGAs/s320/cookie.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In honor of women's history month I dedicate this blog post to Torreah 'Cookie' Washington who is the inspiration for this blog. I am stealing her post from Facebook. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is a picture of her next to the awesome quilt she made for the "Quilts for Obama: An Exhibit Celebration of our 44th President" at the Historical Society of Washington, D.C. So she flew pretty freaking high that day! </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Happy Women's History Month.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Believe YOU can Fly Too!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;Dear Sisters, I thought it was time to write about why I believe we need to rediscover that we can fly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;My name is Cookie Washington, I was an Air Force brat growing up. I grew up on and around Air Force Bases in the US and abroad.<br /> I have a an old black and white photo of me about age 3 standing on the wing of a C-5 with my father and older sister... I love that photo...<br /> I love and have always loved airplanes and flying... I love the noise, I love the smell of jet fuel, I like the flight suits....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;When I was 12 and we lived in Clovis, NM, home of Cannon AFB, I would sneak out to the fence that ran along side the flight line and lay in the grass as close to the fence as I dared because I could feel the rumble of the airplanes on the earth before they became airborne. It thrilled me! It was my secret, I wanted to be a pilot when I grew up, I wanted to fly the F-16 for ten years, then I wanted to go into the space program and become an "astro-nett" (ok so I was not liberated enough to think "female astronaut..." I wanted a pretty pink flight suit and matching helmet... But I wanted to fly, and FAST... I loved, in the way that some women love a man, I loved the F-16 Flying Falcon from the moment I saw it... The F-16 is a single engine, multi-mission, tactical aircraft.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;I loved that it was sleek, shiny, had great maneuverability and was fast... It did not occur to me in the Vietnam era that the "F" in "F- 16" was for fighter, and somewhere outside of my romantic image the USAF had plans for this plane I would later be protesting big time....<br /> I wanted to fly, I have never been a follow the crowd kind of girl, this is probably because I was a sickly, loner, bookish girl who lived inside my head way too much, none of my gal pals seemed to want to fly, but they did not want to do a lot of the things I did.<br /> My beloved stepfather, now of blessed memory, took me to every airshow and anything that was going on where planes were involved.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;He never told me, "You can't fly." He told me I would be a very pretty astro-nett and I better do better in math because I would need to know it to get thru pilot school.<br /> My mother never said, "You can't fly."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;There are things the adults in my life told me I could not do, but thank GOD/Goddess, nobody ever said to me, "Cookie, you can't fly." Or, "little black girls do not become pilots."<br /> They encouraged me to go for it, even though they or I had never seen a black woman pilot. I never even noticed. I was so focused on becoming an Air Force pilot.<br /> Well fast forward, to high school. I kept my dream alive and Pops, had retired from the USAF at Kirkland AFB home of the F-16's! I was sure this was a sign.<br /> I took the Military Service entrance exam, I scored really high.<br /> I was redesigned that pink flight suit in my head daily.<br /> Went to take the physical...<br /> Dr Simmons is the one who finally told me, "Honey, you will never fly..."<br /> I was too short to get into flight school, and really not quite tall enough to get into the Air Force.<br /> I was fat, more that 50 pounds over my "ideal" weight.<br /> I had asthma.<br /> And I wore and still wear glasses.<br /> I was never going to be an Air force F-16 Flying Falcon pilot, I was never going to be a Thunderbird, and I was never going to be an astronaut...<br /> I was grounded...<br /> How does one deal with a dream deferred?<br /> You cry. I cried a lot. And I cried a lot more.<br /> Then I got over it and lived the rest of my life.<br /> And I learned to FLY!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fly in other ways... I went to college, I had 2 amazing children, I inherited another amazing child. I started my own business from scratch with almost no money. I am an artist, a mother, a good friend and everybody's cheerleader, a passionate political activist.<br /> In 2002, I flew to Houston from Charleston, SC. I got on the plane, and I always look in the cockpit, I have this thing about not wanting to fly on a plane with a pilot that looks younger than me. There in the cockpit was a beautiful African American woman pilot.<br /> I asked her if she was the Captain? She said no she was the First Officer.<br /> Tears sprang to my eyes. I was holding up the line of passengers trying to board the plane.<br /> I am usually very polite, but this was BIG, I needed to ask questions and those folks would have to wait...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;She was kind and charming and I was so impressed. I realized, with all the flying I have done in my life, I had never been on a flight with a Black woman pilot. Have you?<br /> Surely, she was not the only Sister flying?<br /> The flight attendant forced me to my seat. I sat there sobbing, with joy and wonder and questions.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why had I never seen a Black woman pilot before, and why had I not noticed?<br /> In 2003 I discovered thru the Women in Aviation Organization, something that grounded me again.<br /> I asked for statistics on the number of Black Women pilots, commercially.<br /> The answer came back; "14."<br /> "OK," I said, "Now is that the number flying for American or Delta?" thinking I was getting the information by airline.<br /> "No." was my answer. "There are only 14 (fourteen) Black women pilots."<br /> "In America?" I asked?<br /> "No. That is worldwide."<br /> "Uhm, wait a minute, excuse me... does this include Fed Ex and UPS pilots too?"<br /> "Yes, I am afraid it does."<br /> Holy shit! This did not make sense.<br /> "Are you sure, you don't mean 114 pilots?"<br /> She did not mean 114 pilots.<br /> I put the phone down in shock.<br /> "Shit" I said again... I will never forget that phone call.<br /> "Why are there only 14 black women pilots in the world?"<br /> The answer came to me almost immediately...<br /> "Because nobody told us we COULD fly."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;I spent the next week being the most annoying woman in Charleston, and on the internet. I must have asked over 200 people, on the phone, in the store, on line, and in church, "Hey, do you know who Willa Brown is? Do you know who Bessie Coleman is?"<br /> Out of those 200 or so responses I got less than 5 yeses and Bessie Coleman had her own US Postal stamp!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So it is my personal mission to spread the news about these two brave trail blazing sisters from the dawn of aviation.<br /> Here is the way I see this problem.<br /> If you went to public schools in America and did not do any outside reading of African America history, you learned if you were lucky, about Phyllis Wheatley, first African American poetess and a slave sold into slavery in 1761.<br /> If not then you learned about Harriet Tubman, "conductor" on the Underground Railroad, and escaped slave. 1860's.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;Then you read about Sojourner Truth, abolitionist, women's rights activist and slave. Her "Ain't I a Woman speech was given in 1851.<br /> Then according to most popular textbooks in America when I was growing up, the next Black woman we learned about was Rosa Parks.<br /> Finally! An African American woman who was not a slave!<br /> However she was "speaking truth to power" while being oppressed by the white majority.<br /> As proud as I am of these women, I feel there are huge holes in our leaning about our "sister-mothers."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have included short bios on Bessie Coleman and Willa Brown.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sisters I challenge you, to tell anyone who will listen about these great women.<br /> We, you and I are descendents, yes of slaves, but also of these women who fought like Hell and won their own piece of Sky...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am telling YOU, You can FLY! I can Fly, and we can help other sisters, especially the young ones learn that they can FLY... Someone has opened the heavens for us and we can find our wings. Up we go into the wild blue yonder....<br /> You do not have to be a pilot to fly, to SOAR, but know that we can...<br /> Thank you for reading this too long rant.<br /> Cookie Washington<br /> 3:15 AM May 26th, 2008</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still Aiming High....</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Bessie Coleman (January 26, 1892 – April 30, 1926) was a pioneering African American aviatrix and was the first American of any race or gender to hold an international pilot's license</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.<br /> But Bessie Coleman, had to receive her pilot's license in France, because no U.S. pilots' program would accept her. She attained her certification in 1921 after only seven months, becoming the very first African American woman in the world to be licensed to fly an aircraft.<br /> Bessie Coleman would not live long enough to fulfill her greatest dream—establishing a school for young, black aviators—but her pioneering achievements served as an inspiration for a generation of African American men and women. "Because of Bessie Coleman," wrote Lieutenant William J. Powell in Black Wings 1934, dedicated to Coleman, we have overcome that which was worse than racial barriers. We have overcome the barriers within ourselves and dared to dream.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;Dr. Mae Jemison physician and former NASA astronaut, wrote in the book, Queen Bess: Daredevil Aviator (1993): "I point to Bessie Coleman and say without hesitation that here is a woman, a being, who exemplifies and serves as a model to all humanity: the very definition of strength, dignity, courage, integrity, and beauty. It looks like a good day for flying."</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The first African American woman to achieve her pilot's license on U.S. soil was Willa Beatrice Brown. Brown enrolled in the Aeronautical University in Chicago, earning a Master Mechanic certificate in 1935. Under the tutelage of certified flight instructor and aviation mechanic Cornelius Coffey, she earned her private pilot's license in 1938, passing her exam with a near perfect score of 96 percent. When Willa earned her pilot's license, it made her the first African American woman to be licensed in the United States. Two years later she married Cornelius Coffey, who would become one of the Tuskegee Airmen. She was also a founding member of the National Airmen Association of America, the sole purpose of which was to lobby Congress for the racial integration of the U.S. Army Air Corps.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;In 1941, with her flying service and aviation credentials, the U.S. government named Willa as the federal coordinator of the Chicago unit of the Civil Air Patrol civilian pilot training program. She was ranked an officer in this first integrated unit. Her efforts were directly responsible for the creation of the renowned Tuskegee Airmen, which led to the integration of the U.S. military services in 1948. She was instrumental in training more than 200 students who went on to become Tuskegee pilots.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;Her interests didn't end at aviation, though. Brown became the first African American woman to run for Congress in 1946. She campaigned again in 1948 and 1950 before pursuing other interests. She married a minister in 1955 and taught aeronautics at Westinghouse High School until the 1970s. Willa Beatrice Brown Chappell died in July 1992. She was 86 years old.</span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-25194327212779499042018-02-28T09:04:00.001-05:002018-02-28T09:04:48.404-05:00Flying unsteady<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XfDufQ7mZl0/Wpa2c-qD_tI/AAAAAAAADkc/mHnby__nnjka3tIXpl1dEuYMW1R7b-ZigCLcBGAs/s1600/unsteady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XfDufQ7mZl0/Wpa2c-qD_tI/AAAAAAAADkc/mHnby__nnjka3tIXpl1dEuYMW1R7b-ZigCLcBGAs/s320/unsteady.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last weekend I found myself in a position relatively unknown to me- in a public bathroom crying so hard that my body shook. Yes, that happened. I consider myself a strong woman. I stand up for others, but for that moment in time I could not stand up for myself. Even as I play the narrative over and over in my head it comes out the same. I was vulnerable and I was weak. I was vulnerable and I weak in a space where those things are allowed. I was vulnerable and weak in a place where I was not expected to be strong. We all need those places and spaces. We should not have to battle the world 24/7. And yet, in those moments when we relax our force fields sometimes stuff happens. And not the good stuff. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course I told myself that I could have, should have, and would have done x, y, and z or all of them. But honestly, I could not. And more importantly I should not have been made to feel less than myself. I should not have been called 'damaged' or any part of my body labeled as such. I was mortified, humiliated, and just hurt. My body is what my body is: imperfectly beautifully mine. Not yours, not his, not hers, and not theirs. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Up until this point in my life and I am 56, I had never been called 'damaged'. We were not in a medical setting and even my doctor never calls me that. I have osteoarthritis in my right knee. I am not damaged. Less than perfect, of course, but not now and not ever 'damaged'. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I did not jump to my own defense during the altercation because I just could not. I did not approach the offender away from the group because I could not. When asked if I would consider a conversation with that person, my reply was "not at this time." And honestly, there may not be a time. I was also told that if I spoke to the offender there would probably be a sincere apology because the message was&nbsp;surely not received the way it was intended. That may be true. I do not feel that I was singled out. I honestly think this is normal behavior. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am not willing to knowingly put myself in a position where I do not feel safe. I am not willing to ask for forgiveness for feeling the way I feel. (No one has directly&nbsp;asked me to do that, but telling me that it was not taken the right way, or that I there will always be people who do not say the right things, be the bigger person, and so on equate to the same thing to me.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is all about me. My feelings. My body. My everything. And right now do not ask me to think about the other person. It is not going to happen. I am not going to. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">There is a lesson is all of this. Choose your words carefully. And in a place of non-judgment, don't judge. And do not expect strong people to rise up with clenched fists each and every time something happens. It is not that we consent. It may be that we are just tired. Remember, no matter how freaking awesome we are we are still human. </span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-90973730877684701252018-02-15T09:57:00.000-05:002018-02-15T09:57:00.401-05:00Flying unattached<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xmMLVNFNanE/WoWfiFvuoEI/AAAAAAAADjg/GkW3Q1mTGkcsFfeOYWvSgQJzoxXMmiqegCLcBGAs/s1600/flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xmMLVNFNanE/WoWfiFvuoEI/AAAAAAAADjg/GkW3Q1mTGkcsFfeOYWvSgQJzoxXMmiqegCLcBGAs/s320/flowers.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am flying unattached. Unattached because I am not in a relationship and unattached from outcomes. Yesterday was Valentine's Day and when I got to the office flowers were on my desk. Not from a secret admirer like last year (yes this is the second year in a row that I got unexpected flowers on Valentine's Day), but from a person that I have just been friendly. I speak to him every day at work and listen to him tell me about his life. The things that I do normally with no expectation of a reward. There is no romance there. Just genuine friendship.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I also applied for a job that feels way out of my comfort zone. I have the qualifications. I was not going to apply but really did not have a reason not to. So I did. I am not consumed with apprehension over the selection process or even if I make the final round. I may get the job and I may not. I put my best foot forward that the rest is not up to me.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then a potential opportunity came my way.&nbsp; I tried to play it down when a friend told me that it was time for me to fully appreciate my worth and ask for what I truly deserve. This required me to do some research and actually ask for fair market value for my services instead of allowing others to determine and decide that for me. At first, I was very uncomfortable in the process. I found plenty of reasons NOT to give myself a fair assessment. Then I realized that I would be incredibly angry if someone else did that to me. So I asked for what I am worth. I may not get the gig, but I have set the precedence for myself. I am unattached from the outcome. I did my best. And it is interesting how many others in the same position do not ask for what they are worth out of fear of rejection. I get it, I am just not in that space anymore.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, my friends ask fair market value for your services regardless of what others say. Always do your best and do not sweat the outcome.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-72848522955829868272018-02-06T09:11:00.000-05:002018-02-06T09:11:17.491-05:00Flying, a little bit<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wLtCwr8MV8Q/Wnm3RBIDf4I/AAAAAAAADiw/2ZC03Cq4pHsCMImtpXSJGdohe8fu9xs1gCLcBGAs/s1600/henri-meilhac-155942%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wLtCwr8MV8Q/Wnm3RBIDf4I/AAAAAAAADiw/2ZC03Cq4pHsCMImtpXSJGdohe8fu9xs1gCLcBGAs/s320/henri-meilhac-155942%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/3O3-8eymCNI?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, &quot;San Francisco&quot;, &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, &quot;Segoe UI&quot;, Arial, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-decoration-skip: ink; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">henri meilhac</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">&nbsp;from unsplash</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I define flying as succeeding so I am probably flying. It just does not feel like it so much today. Actually it hasn't for a few days now. I could blame it on the weather, the moon, the fact that my knee hurts, or a host of other things. I could, but I won't. I need to own this. I need to unapologetically own this. I do, only I am not exactly sure what I am owning. I&nbsp;guess I just simply call it 'my stuff'. Okay, I am owning&nbsp;my stuff. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">I do not feel compelled to dive deeper so that I can provide you with an explanation of my stuff. And that alone is empowering. Over the weekend during my 200 hour yoga teacher training (I am more than halfway done, thank goodness) we did an exercise. We had to lie on our mats with our eyes closed and our partner lifted one of our legs. The partner was supposed to notice any sensations while lifting and we were supposed to explain what those sensations could be. For instance a few people said those sensations were memories, thoughts, and things like that. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">When it was my turn to have my leg lifted, I would not allow my partner to lift it. I think I tried, but I would not relinquish control. The issue was that I did not feel safe. I acknowledged that. I did not feel the need to explore why I did not feel safe. I was just fine not feeling safe with my eyes closed on a mat in a vulnerable position having someone who normally does not touch me and vice versa lifting my leg. I refused to answer the probing questions about what was going on in my mind. Why? Because it wasn't anyone's business. Because that was a brief exercise conducted by untrained persons (myself included) who were not equipped to move further or deeper. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">It was empowering knowing that I felt unsafe. I own that. I guess that was progress. Defending my choices is progress. Removing toxicity from my life is progress. Being unapologetic is progress. And progress is success no matter how tiny or how slow. And success is flying. So I am flying even if I do not feel the wind in my hair and I can still see the ground. I am flying even when I do not get it all done and find myself gasping for air. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;">Flying is not just the act of succeeding, it is the feeling. The feeling of being lifted while my feet are firmly planted on the ground. I get that. It's all part of owning my stuff. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">&nbsp;</span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-8831659234095589972018-01-23T14:38:00.000-05:002018-01-23T14:38:02.935-05:00Flying in the power of change<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WRqczh8QyQc/WmeNckCE9eI/AAAAAAAADhs/YEjt1ubVtbgDy9ALmTzQ755bX4PAQjDvACLcBGAs/s1600/polls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WRqczh8QyQc/WmeNckCE9eI/AAAAAAAADhs/YEjt1ubVtbgDy9ALmTzQ755bX4PAQjDvACLcBGAs/s320/polls.jpg" width="240" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was honored to sit on a panel titled: She the People: Women of Color Leading the Way in Savannah. Every time I think about this my heart swells. I honestly did not think I was making that big of an impact in Savannah. And I had no idea that people were actually paying attention. I remember reading something somewhere that said to be careful what you do because you never know who is watching. I feel amazing. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What was more amazing is that I shared the space with greatness. There were women who have been moving things in Savannah and other plans for years. I met a 91 year old woman who just got engaged! So, perhaps there is hope for me. Maybe, but I have stopped holding my breath long ago. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were younger women who were thirsty to&nbsp;drink up our knowledge and experience in hopes to make this world a better place for all of us. We talked about change. We talked about how we are living in the change-good, bad, or indifferent. We talked about what it feels like to be agents of change, because we all are&nbsp;in one form or another. &nbsp;We talked about next steps. Sitting and talking is a start, but it is not nearly enough. We need action. We also honored the voices not in the room whether through death, incarceration, distance, or other reasons. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We talked about coalitions. We talked about legislation, due process, voting rights, education, discrimination, work-life-balance, self-care, books to read, books to write, family, gender, inclusiveness, exclusiveness, majority, minority, reproductive rights, and so many other things that it made my head swim. And it made me so proud to be amongst women who are not about toeing the party line. I was with women who hunger to take the lead, support the lead, follow the lead, and do whatever it takes to get things done. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I learned the power of the ask. Ask for what you need. There is no shame in that. There is plenty to go around if we share or not take what we do not need. And if we give freely. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-18323273749647651592018-01-18T09:39:00.001-05:002018-01-18T09:39:33.516-05:00Flying a bit concerned<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3sqlZzWM7c8/WmCxRO_ZB5I/AAAAAAAADhE/_CI1wbWT2945RouDDaaYj15shxba8CDUQCLcBGAs/s1600/mark-cruz-334535.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3sqlZzWM7c8/WmCxRO_ZB5I/AAAAAAAADhE/_CI1wbWT2945RouDDaaYj15shxba8CDUQCLcBGAs/s320/mark-cruz-334535.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mark Cruz</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I pride myself on being open-minded. Generally I think I do a good job of listening (or reading on social media) people's words without getting too offended. But lately I have seen things that are making me question my disposition. I know that silence does not mean consent. I mean, there are comments that just do not warrant a response from me. Like the reply-all thing. I simply delete. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am now wondering that if I should go all out ballistic on some folks. Not all, just a few. Okay, maybe just two. I am not sure it would do any good. It is difficult to change the minds of those who only want to look at things from the ivory tower. I tried looking at things from their vantage point and I still don't get it. Every time I see/hear someone say she/he wants to take his/her country back I cringe. I want to reply that the only people should be talking about taking their country back at the Native Americans (I hope that is still how I should call them, if not please accept my apology). </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How did we get here? Actually, I know how we got here. I am more curious about why we are still here. Haven't we all proved our worth? I am speaking as a person of color. What more do we have to do to prove that we are valuable members of the universe?&nbsp; George Washington Carver and peanut butter should have been enough. But there are countless others. Sarah Goode invented a folding cabinet bed, George Crum created crisp chips (potato chips), Granville T. Woods invented the multiplex telegraph, and it allowed dispatchers and engineers at various stations to communicate with moving trains via telegraph, and Elijah McCoy invented the automatic oil cup. The list goes on. Oh, let's not forget about Dr. Charles Drew&nbsp;the&nbsp;r<span>enowned surgeon and pioneer in the preservation of life-saving blood plasma. And then there are those who every single day of their lives strive to make the world a better place for all of us. </span></span><br /><span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span><br /><span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just don't get it. How can anyone think that skin color makes you better or worse than someone else? Or that what is between our legs allows us to dominate others? What happened to mutual respect? What happened to just being kind? </span></span><br /><span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span><br /><span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303659102827823832.post-88659488247866367542018-01-12T03:00:00.000-05:002018-01-12T03:00:21.364-05:00Flying with the return of Thurday's Word<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.thursdaysword.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Thursday's Word</a></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-u-nprC4sPYA/Wld4H41KBnI/AAAAAAAADgE/PI0VO_B4NEw3IP-P7hH1Fp2u_P8G9eQpwCLcBGAs/s1600/brenda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="185" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-u-nprC4sPYA/Wld4H41KBnI/AAAAAAAADgE/PI0VO_B4NEw3IP-P7hH1Fp2u_P8G9eQpwCLcBGAs/s1600/brenda.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dreams Do Come True!!<br /><br /> I started this Blog years ago when I wanted to encourage a friend who was going through a very rough time in her life.&nbsp; She wanted me to send her Scripture that was uplifting and encouraging. She knew I was a write and she said..."Send me an email" so I can read it whenever I need to. I did and she started to feel better, and asked if she could pass that same information on to her other friends who she felt needed the same type of encouragement.<br /><br /> One email address led to another and another and before long...<span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1035738057" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">Thursday's</span></span></span> Word was created. Why Thursday?&nbsp; I felt that <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1035738059" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">Sunday</span></span></span> was when you got your fill of the Word at Church. Most people attend Bible Study <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1035738060" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">on Wednesday</span></span></span> night. <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1035738061" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">Friday</span></span></span> is always a busy end of the work week day, so <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1035738058" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">Thursday</span></span></span> was the day before all of that started.&nbsp; It carried you <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1035738063" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">on Friday</span></span></span>, <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1035738064" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">Saturday</span></span></span>, and <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1035738065" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">Sunday</span></span></span> you got your refill!<br /><br /> I dreamed many dreams of becoming a published author and the Lord has blessed me to write my very first book, <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1035738057" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">Thursday's</span></span></span> Word Devotional.&nbsp; Yes, I am honored to tell you that it is currently being printed and will be available in stores, and online for purchase soon.&nbsp; The asking price is $17.95 plus shipping will be a total cost of $21.70.&nbsp;&nbsp; You may send your request to Thursdays Word, Box 405, Franklin, TN 37064. If you enjoyed reading my <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1035738057" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">Thursday's</span></span></span> Word encouragement email each Thursday, then you will enjoy this book. All the information was taken directly from our shared emails and my <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1035738057" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">Thursday's</span></span></span> Word blog.<br /><br /> Dreams are those heartfelt yearnings that God places in your heart. They are so big that you know He is the one who has to make it come true. God loves giving us the desires of our heart. He longs to make us happy and fulfilled.&nbsp; What are your dreams? What would you truly like to do the rest of your life?&nbsp; What are some of the yearnings that you have and you are afraid to step out in faith to do?<br /><br /> Do not be afraid to taking that first step.&nbsp; God will lead you all the way to fulfillment.&nbsp; I started out with an email, then a Blog, then articles in Christian magazines, then note cards, now my very first published work.&nbsp; God can and God will help you fulfill those yearnings in your heart....your dreams.<br /><br /> God bless you always is my prayer<br /><br /> Brenda C. Smith<br /> Author</span>dorethahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15212391927383298796noreply@blogger.com0